


nothing but rain for days

by ewidentnie



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17308649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewidentnie/pseuds/ewidentnie
Summary: “Can I ask a favour?” Josh says, getting to his feet.“Okay,” Troy says, because his brain hasn’t caught up to what his mouth is doing yet.“Let me stay with you for the next few weeks?” Josh asks.





	nothing but rain for days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luciferinasundaysuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferinasundaysuit/gifts).



> This takes place in a relatively nebulous future - I handwaved a few transactions that ended up shaking out this offseason; please forgive me for that!
> 
> I had so much fun writing for you, luciferinasundaysuit - I actually had like five separate ideas for this but I ended up settling on this work. I can only hope I've done them justice! And as always, thank you to a. for looking this over.
> 
> Please enjoy ♥

Troy comes home one evening, after a game at the dome, to find Josh Donaldson sitting by the door to his condo. He’s sitting crosslegged, a duffel bag on the floor next to him, scrolling through something on his phone like he’s been there for a while and settled in for a long wait.

He looks up when he hears Troy approaching, though, hitting the power button on his phone and sliding it into the pocket of his sweater. “Hey, you’re back,” he says, grinning, “I was waiting.”

“Long time no see,” Troy says slowly, hefting the strap of his own bag back up his shoulder where it’s starting to slip.

His words feel almost inadequate to contain the reality of things, even if they’re true - it’s been years since he’s seen Josh, ever since he got traded across the country. Maybe a series here and there over the years, a few days at most; not enough time for any sort of meaningful conversation. Not that either of them had tried to seek one out.

“Can I ask a favour?” Josh says, getting to his feet.

“Okay,” Troy says, because his brain hasn’t caught up to what his mouth is doing yet.

“Let me stay with you for the next few weeks?” Josh asks.

Troy just stares at him, blinking slowly. It’s not a joke - that much becomes clear as the seconds pass and Josh doesn’t say anything else, just looks straight at Troy. This close, he can see the bags under Josh’s eyes, the way he’s balancing to try and avoid strain on one side.

“Yeah, of course,” Troy says, breaking the silence. God knows why he agrees, but he’d never been able to say no to Josh Donaldson in the past, and apparently some things never change. He digs in his pocket for the keys, fishing out the right one with a jingle. “Come on in,” he says, leaving the door open behind him.

 

 

It doesn’t take him long to find out the reason behind Josh’s sudden appearance and request. Josh is in the shower - “Long flight,” he’d said, and Troy had shooed him off in the direction of the guest bathroom, partially to give himself space to regroup and partially because it’s just the polite thing to do - and he’s got the daily sports recap on in the background while going over video from an earlier game.

“In other news,” the announcer says, voice taking a more somber cast, “former Blue Jay Josh Donaldson was placed on the 10-day disabled list, retroactive to last Thursday.” He looks up at that, hitting pause on the video looping on his tablet. "The third baseman was sidelined with an oblique strain and is expected to be out for at least two weeks.”

There are footsteps behind him, and then Josh is there, resting his elbows on the back of the couch. The water must have shut off at some point while he wasn’t paying attention. “Oh,” Josh says, “have I been found out?” He’s staring at the screen, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “Hope the guys at Sportsnet aren’t saying too many mean things about me.”

This close, Troy’s hit with the scent of his own shampoo, some rosemary and herb blend that he barely notices when it’s on him but is somehow impossible to ignore when it’s on Josh. He drags his attention away from the curl of Josh’s hair, damp against his neck. “Nah, they were just saying maybe it’s time to look into robot third basemen,” Troy says, deadpan.

Josh looks at him for a moment before bursting into surprised laughter, like he hadn’t expected Troy to make the joke in the first place. Years ago, when they’d been closer, maybe, but not anymore.

“I never did say thanks for letting me stay with you,” Josh says, draping himself over the back of the couch so he’s stuck looking up at Troy. “Anything I can do for you in exchange?” The curve of his mouth, when Troy looks at him, is a little bit mischievous and a lot suggestive. “And I do mean anything.”

He doesn’t know what Josh is up to; never has and maybe never will. Has no idea if Josh is being serious about it, or if he even realizes the extent of what he’s offering. He doesn’t dare reach out to try and take it for fear of getting snapped at; he’s older now and too tired for those sorts of games.

Josh has never been what anyone would call a good cook, but there approximately three recipes that he can reliably make, and when he does they’re better than anything you can get in a restaurant. “Your mom’s mac and cheese,” Troy says. God knows Lisa had worked secret magic with noodles and an oven, one that Josh had refused to share and that he still thinks about from time to time. “Can you make that again?”

Josh straightens up at that. Something that could be disappointment flickers through his eyes, but he’s laughing again, an easy smile spreading across his face, before Troy can get a second glance. “Sure,” he says, “whatever you want.”

 

 

He has to wonder if Josh remembers at all: that one spring they’d spent together in Dunedin. It was just a short six weeks in comparison to the grind that's the regular season, but he just can't forget it.

Josh had lived with him, that spring. Troy had bought a place near Dunedin in what might have been an ill-advised real estate decision to try and get over being traded; and it just seemed like the easiest solution to offer the spare room to Josh. He’d set the guest room up for him, but after about a week Josh had fallen into his bed and never left it until the start of the regular season. It’d been so easy, settling into a routine of living together; easier still to settle into what wasn’t quite a relationship but felt like one. They’d spent the first week of spring training pretending that whatever had sparked between them last year, in the post-season, fuelled by adrenaline and alcohol and victory, didn’t exist and then the rest of it fucking whenever they had a spare minute.

And then the season had started, and neither of them had mentioned it ever again. It’s not that Troy had minded, necessarily: he was content to keep it as a nice memory, a little gem to treasure. But now, with Josh in his space again, he has to wonder what Josh thinks of that time, back then. If Josh thinks about it at all.

 

 

Troy’s mouth was, uncharacteristically, faster than his brain which means that when it’s time for him to go to bed he realizes that his guest room is a fucking mess. Literally a mess; he’d never gotten it properly set up, so there’s a mattress on a box frame but no sheets or pillows, or even towels in the guest bathroom.

Well, fuck it. Josh was the one who showed up on his doorstep, so he’ll just have to deal. “My guest room’s kind of out of commission right now,” Troy says, “but you can sleep on the couch.” He hesitates, wondering if this is the best suggestion, but-- whatever. “Or you can share the master bed with me.” As if they’re back in college, packed four to a hotel room on road trips.

He has no idea what Josh is thinking when Josh looks at him, like he’s searching for something in his expression but Troy has no ulterior motives here, nothing to hide. He’s just laying out the options. “It’s a big bed,” Troy says, as if that makes a difference.

The corner of Josh’s mouth turns up. “Then i’ll crash with you,” he says, a little mischievous, like they’re both in on a secret.

They sleep back to back, a good foot of space between them. Nothing happens that night. Troy doesn’t know if he wanted anything to. When Troy wakes up, morning light streaming in through the windows, it almost feels like they’re back in Dunedin again, that one spring; at any moment Josh is going to roll over and kiss him good morning before whining about how he wants coffee. 

But that was years ago and this is now. The sunlight glints off the grey in josh’s hair, short on the sides as it has been for years, and Troy— has to look away.

 

 

As promised, Josh whips up his mom’s mac and cheese the next day, while Troy’s at the ballpark. He comes home to his condo full of the smell of pasta and toasted breadcrumbs and cheese, and Josh in his kitchen, the apron that he never touches tied around his waist.

It’s just as good as Troy remembers, and enough of an olive branch between the two that any awkwardness between them dissolves over dinner. Josh lights up when he compliments him on his cooking, a genuine grin that it feels like he hasn’t seen in years. Probably hasn’t actually seen in years.

They settle into an easy rhythm, as easy as breathing, as easy as turning a 6-4-3 double play, as easy as it was all those years ago in Dunedin. Troy goes to games, Josh goes to physio, and they come home and order in food because neither of them are actually that good at cooking and watch whatever’s popular on Netflix while they eat.

They keep on sleeping in the same bed, too, starting off back to back every time, and the one night Troy wakes up with Josh pressed up against his back he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t pull away, either, but that’s his secret to keep.

Enough time passes for Troy to get used to it, enough so that he’s caught off guard after ten days of this. They’re on the couch, in the middle of an episode of Black Mirror, when Josh speaks up.

“I don’t fucking understand you, man,” he says. He’s still staring at the TV when he says this; Troy almost thinks he’s talking to the show.

“Uh, what?” he says. Real eloquent of him, but he wasn’t exactly expecting this.

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for these past ten days,” Josh says.

“What,” Troy says, again. Neither of them are paying attention to the TV anymore.

“If this were 2016,” Josh says, “you would’ve.” He almost sounds frustrated, but Troy can’t gauge his expression before Josh is slinging a leg over his to straddle Troy’s lap. “Consider this me making a move for you,” he says.

Troy’s hands settle on Josh’s waist, almost by instinct; the curve of it still familiar. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he says.

Josh, looking down at him, doesn’t bother answering; just leans down to press his mouth to Troy’s. More than enough of an answer.

“Okay,” Troy says, fingers tightening on Josh’s hips. “Okay.”

Josh drags him to the bedroom; Troy doesn’t even bother trying to pretend like he doesn’t want this; hasn’t wanted it for the past ten days, too.

There’s lube and condoms in Troy’s nightstand; barely touched in recent months but Troy’s glad they’re there. Josh opens himself up quickly, efficient in a way he wasn’t all those years ago, but then again it’s been a while; they’ve both changed.

It’s not long before Josh is pushing him down by the shoulders and easing onto Troy’s cock. The way they’re fucking, Troy knows Josh remembers spring training. They fit together so well, moving together like no time’s passed, Josh riding his cock like he can’t get enough of it.

“God, fuck,” Troy says, when Josh’s thighs start shaking and he starts slowing, “I wanna fuck you, lemme—” and Josh nods, burying his face in Troy’s shoulder. He pulls out, flips Josh over and rearranges him so he’s spread out on Troy’s bed. Pushes one thigh up towards Josh’s chest - Josh goes, easily - and slides right back in.

He comes sooner than he thought he would, cock buried in Josh’s ass. Replaces it with his fingers after he comes down from it, working Josh until he comes too, fingers pressing bruises into Troy’s shoulders from how hard he grips.

He deals with the condom, grabs tissues to deal with the rest of the mess and then there’s no excuse left anymore to try and keep his space. This time, when he climbs back into bed, he doesn’t bother trying to keep the artificial divide between them, just tugs Josh against his chest when he goes to sleep, Josh pressing back against him like he’s trying to get even closer than they already are.

And they just— keep doing it, for the rest of the time Josh stays with him. Troy goes to the practice and then to the Dome and josh keeps going to physio, and they come back home and order from the same places they used to hit up, but now when they go to bed they can barely keep their hands off each other. Years of lost time being made up for night after night.

One night, when Troy’s half-asleep, Josh speaks up, in the dark of his bedroom. “Do you ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t playing ball?”

Troy shrugs, even though Josh can’t see it. “Not really,” he says, and it’s mostly. Every player has their doubts, but— he went high enough in the draft, he was sure enough he’d make it to the show. For him, it was always just a matter of being able to stay there. 

“Just me, then,” Josh says, light enough that it could be taken as a joke if Troy wanted to. He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow of his arms. “I used to think about what’d be left if you took baseball away from me,” he says. His voice is muffled; Troy can’t quite make out the tone, but he gets it. They’re both getting older, and time seems endless when you’re young, summer after summer spent on baseball diamonds, but they’re both reaching the age where they’re closer to retirement than not.

“I mean, I studied engineering in college, but I didn’t ever think I’d actually have to use it,” Josh says. “I thought maybe about being a pro golfer, when I was younger, but who knows it that would’ve ever worked out.” He peeks up at Troy at that, enough so that Troy can see the swoop of his lashes, the vulnerable tilt of his mouth. “I just like baseball too much,” Josh says; almost wistful. “Even just riding the bus between Oakland and Sacramento, I still couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else.”

Josh falls asleep soon after that, but it takes longer for Troy to drift off. _I still couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else_ , Josh had said; Troy thinks about all the ways life has aligned to bring them together. Both that first summer back in Toronto, and once again now.

 

 

Three weeks to the day that Josh showed up on his doorstep, that night on the couch with coffee, Josh manages to blindside him once again. “Alright, as I promised,” he says, deliberately looking at the TV and not at Troy, “I’ll be getting out of your hair tomorrow.”

Troy— sets his cup down, before turning to face Josh. He’s old enough to not want to go through this whole cycle again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he says, “I don’t want to do another five years, or whatever, of this sort of weird radio silence where you pretend that we never fucked. I’m not doing that again.” That gets Josh’s attention; gets Josh looking back at Troy. “What do you want from me?” Troy asks.

“Back then,” Josh says, “I liked you so much.” He’s blushing a little, cheekbones tinted pink; he can’t quite seem to make eye contact with Troy. “So much,” he says again, chin balanced on his hand. “It scared me a little,” he says, and then pauses. “No, it scared the hell out of me.”

There are so many questions Troy could ask, after an admission like that. He settles on one. “Do you still?” he asks.

“I do,” Josh says. He flicks a glance towards Troy. “Even after all this time. There’s a reason I showed up on your doorstep, you know.”

“Does it still scare you?” Troy asks.

Finally, _finally_ , Josh shifts on the couch so he’s facing Troy head-on now. “Not anymore,” Josh says. “I thought maybe I fucked things up between us, but—” he reaches a hand out, placing it on top of Troy’s— “I guess I didn’t, after all.”

He wraps Josh’s fingers loosely in his own. If Josh wanted to, he could pull away, but he doesn’t. “What do you want?” Troy asks; it’s a similar question to the one he’d just asked, but the difference a word makes can be heavy.

“I mean, I wanna play,” Josh says, almost immediately, free hand going to his side almost unconsciously. “But—” and he pauses, fingers tightening around Troy’s hand, “I want you. To be with you, too.”

“You can have both, you know,” Troy says, carefully. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know that now,” Josh says. “I didn’t back then, but I figured it out, eventually.” He grins. “Guess all that book learning was just for show.”

Troy rolls his eyes, leaning in to press his mouth to Josh’s temple, right where his hair’s starting to go grey. “Go out and kick some ass,” he says in Josh’s ear. “And then come back here in the offseason. With me.”

“Yeah?” Josh asks, voice lilting a little. “Is that an invitation?”

“It is,” Troy says, turning Josh’s face so he can kiss him properly this time, for what feels like the first time in years. “We have a lot of time to make up for, you know.”

**Author's Note:**

> the rain is, uh, symbolic.


End file.
